Behind Enemy Lines

I'm sure we all have anecdotes from the dystopian hellscape that is The Demuhcratic Republic of Clownworld.

I was recently dismayed to read Activism British's depressing account of life in a northern town colonised by racial and religious aliens determined to recreate their shithole in England's green and pleasant land, albeit with taxpayer-funded gibs and roads of Tarmac.

But the DRC is wonderfully diverse with a fabulous range of vibrancies for the natives to tolerate. The microclimate I have to deal with is the Gay Disco.

I recently returned, after a few years away, to work in one of the most liberal cities in Britain and indeed, the world. And I'd like to share a couple of anecdotes from my workplace.

My old employer, in a slightly (it's all relative these days) more sensible town, never stopped shoving Diversity and Inclusion down my throat. My new employer doesn't generally feel the need to do the same. I suppose when you're in the eye of the storm, on the dancefloor of the Gay Disco, there's not really the need. No, round here they lisp the lisp and mince the mince.

I was talking to a chap of colour one day. I was trying to work out if he was a Rastafarian. He had dreadlocks you see, but I didn't want to come straight out and ask him in case I broke some kind of speech code designed to trip up Whitey. Anyway, we chatted for about five minutes and I think I managed not to blow my cover. Then he walked away and I just happened to notice he was wearing a skirt. Every day I've seen him since he's been wearing a skirt. This is all perfectly normal of course, why wouldn't it be?

Now let me introduce you to David. David is Polish, in his early thirties, the campest homosexual you've ever met. Apparently, he is a drag queen in his spare time. I walked into the canteen the other day and he was complaining that somebody owed him twenty quid for services rendered. He didn't know who it was and hoped to identify the non-payer by the sound of his voice.

Moving on, he was telling us how he had been on holiday to Poland but had been sick with Monkeypox the whole time. After asking everyone if they had had the pox too, which they hadn't, he claimed that he must have caught it from the steering wheel in one of the work vans.

I thought it best to again stay silent. He absolutely didn't catch it smoking cocks in public toilets or at a gay orgy. How could you think such a thing?

So, what's going on where you are? Give us your anecdotes.